


Victims of Circumstance - 10/20 - Successes and Failures

by motsureru



Series: Victims of Circumstance [10]
Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, M/M, Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-01
Updated: 2008-02-01
Packaged: 2017-11-11 18:06:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/481349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/motsureru/pseuds/motsureru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spoilers for Season 1 and Season 2. This is a <b><span>sequel</span> </b>to <i>Any Other Night</i>, which is a <b><span>sequel</span></b> to <i>Broken Glass.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Victims of Circumstance - 10/20 - Successes and Failures

**Author's Note:**

> An enormous amount of thanks to [](http://etoile-dunord.livejournal.com/profile)[**etoile_dunord**](http://etoile-dunord.livejournal.com/), who edits my commas and makes me happy doing it. <3 And a special thanks to [](http://hugh.livejournal.com/profile)[**hugh**](http://hugh.livejournal.com/) who provided the amazing artwork to go with! 

**Teaser _:_** __Sebastian slid his glass aside slowly, a more sober expression crossing his face. “I’m sorry to make it sound so serious and whatnot, but I daresay I wouldn’t do that if it weren’t important, Mohinder, and I wanted to tell you before I headed out for my conference.”  
  
  
 

.10Successes and Failures

 

There was a certain air of victory and relief that came over Peter Petrelli as he walked out of the side door of the hospital, Adam Monroe stalking beside him. He imagined his brother would wake slowly, as if coming out of a terrible nightmare, and somehow simply know, deep in his heart, that Peter had been there. He could only hope for that much, he supposed. Peter watched his step as they rounded the corner on slick pavement, the image of Nathan’s burns slowly melting away repeating again and again in his mind.

“That was incredible. Could see him starting to heal right in front of us,” Peter commented, words feeling rushed as they hurried on foot. Adam began to speak, and as he did, Peter removed the picture of himself and his brother from the photo frame in his hands. This moment was something he would want to remember always.

“He’ll be as good as new by the time he wakes up,” Adam insisted, handing him the items he held in his own hands. “Here. Passport. Plane ticket. Here’s the plan-”

But as they reached the ramp to their left, a new voice interrupted Adam’s words. A female voice he was all too familiar with.

“You disappointed me, Peter,” Elle’s high voice reprimanded. Each step she took was one of frustration, he could see. It didn’t bode well. “And just when I thought we were getting to know each other.” Following behind her was a taller, dark-skinned man that Peter could recall seeing in passing beyond his cell window and being present after he woke up in Bob’s company office.

Adam turned to Peter, a look of resigned disappointment on his face as he spoke quickly. “There’s a warehouse in Montreal. 121 Rue St. Jacques. Meet there.” With an imperceptible nod, Peter and Adam split in either direction, breaking into a run.

Elle was the first to act, a jolt of jagged lightning from her outstretched hand striking Adam Monroe in the back, his body seizing as it struck the wall and fell to the wet ground with a loud smack. She grabbed onto the railing as she rounded the corner, letting loose a similar strike to Peter, causing flames to erupt across the back of his shirt. “Go after him!” Elle demanded of the Haitian, turning back and breaking into a run after Adam’s recovering figure.

The Haitian made chase after Peter, watching as his flaming shirt was stripped away and his nimble body fled with all the conviction of a man to be murdered. As Peter struggled to climb over a tall fence boundary, the Haitian found his way around it, heart pumping at the possibility of losing such an important person at this time. He caught sight of Peter as he bolted past a shipping container and the Haitian threw his weight at the man, sending them both stumbling inside.

At Peter’s realization that powers were futile against the Haitian, a shove and several blows were exchanged before the dark man managed to grab Peter’s wrist, twisting it to the side of him and pulling a pair of cuffs from his belt loop. The Haitian cuffed Peter down in the scuffle, kneeling before his panting figure.

“You take me back there I’m just gonna keep escaping,” Peter breathed out quickly.

That would be the last thing the Haitian needed. Whatever the Company planned on doing, he was going to keep at least one of the two most powerful individuals out of it. This was his only and best opportunity to be assured of that. He shook his head.“I am not taking you back. You deserve a better fate. Your mother helped me when I was in need,” he finally spoke, voice grave.

“So now you’re helping me?” the rising intonation at the end betrayed something almost hopeful through Peter’s anger and fear.

The Haitian removed the necklace from his throat and reached out, sliding it over Peter’s head. “You will start a new life, Peter. I fear this is the only solution. Your secret is safe with me. Be with God, my friend.” 

The panicked expression on Peter’s face only multiplied as the Haitian concentrated, bringing his hand over Peter’s forehead. Suddenly the man might as well have been having his skull sliced open, as he began to scream in agony from the rush of memories being torn from his brain. The Haitian watched apologetically as Peter ceased to scream, mind replacing his pain with an absent, confused gaze. The Haitian stood smoothly and turned, exiting the metal box and pulling the doors shut behind him.

When the Haitian jogged back to the area where they had begun, Elle was standing but some ten feet from where Adam had fallen the first time, and he was again face-down on the ground, this time screaming as another one of her electric jolts sizzled through the back of his shirt, charring and mangling the skin there.

The Haitian approached behind her, watching as she smirked a look of pure satisfaction at watching Adam squirm. She struck him again, letting the bolt linger longer this time, small plumes of smoke rising from his smoldering shirt. “Oh Adam, Adam, Adam… I could do this allllll day.” She smiled sweetly. “Wait until Daddy sees how well I did.” Elle looked over her shoulder at the Haitian, eyes lighting up. “And how well you didn’t do…” she whispered quietly to herself. She saw opportunity, now, to redeem herself in her father’s eyes. She had captured Adam, and the Haitian had lost Peter. What a happy night this would be.

 

 

“You know, this seems like almost as bad an idea as having sex in the storage closet,” Mohinder was saying as he and Sylar ducked between individuals like themselves, people seeking out a warm place to spend a cool Orléans evening. 

Sylar placed a hand at the small of Mohinder’s back, trying to suppress the amused look he knew was gracing his features. “Look, I can’t guarantee you’ll have as much fun as you did in the closet, but I’ll be good. If you don’t enjoy yourself for at least five minutes it will be because Sebastian’s boring, not because I’m being rude.” 

When they found the bar they were looking for on the corner, Sylar pulled open the door for Mohinder and they headed inside. It was only eight-thirty, but the room was already relatively full, drinkers at mixed groups of tables and stools at the bar, the musk of cigarettes hanging with the layer of smoke low in the air. 

Sebastian was already sitting at a table near the back, two tall glasses of beer and a stout one of dark red wine waiting with him. He waved them over with a hand, standing to greet them. “Mohinder, Tom! Right on time, I just ordered some drinks. Didn’t know if it was red or white, Tom, so I took a guess.” He smiled, motioning to the seats across from him. “Sit, sit! It’s getting chilly out there; this will warm you right up.”

“Thank you, Sebastian.” Mohinder smiled, taking his seat to the left, where the beer sat. Sylar joined him at his side.

“Red’s fine, my favorite color,” Sylar said with a smile, earning a small look from Mohinder.

Sebastian merely gave a chuckle as he sat again. “I’d say it was black, really. That’s almost the only color I’ve seen you in since we met. Not to say that it’s not a relief- have you seen Mohinder’s wardrobe?” He grinned jokingly, taking a drink of his beer.

“Does everyone have a problem with vibrant colors?” Mohinder asked with a smile, lifting his own glass. “I can’t escape it even here in France.”

“Ah, people in France wear any color they please, too,” Sebastian lectured knowingly, waving a single finger in the air. “The problem is that you also become victim to the fashion police. If you don’t look suave and fashionable at the same time as you wear those outlandish colors, you’re in trouble. Just look at me: all army drab most of the time.” Sebastian pointed to his dark green shirt, which made him look as pale as he was. “Not stylish at all. I can’t tell you how many men tell me I’m simply not French,” he winked.

Sylar lifted his glass of wine and took a sip, tasting it quite seriously. He was not out to get drunk tonight, that was for sure, and especially not in front of Sebastian. The result was that he seemed to carry himself with an even more aloof air, watching as Sebastian’s talkative nature took over. Sebastian began to discuss with Mohinder the problems of getting into their field, especially at a younger age, and all manners of anecdotes. He did attempt to speak with Sylar, however, and though for once Mohinder sat back and let Sylar do his own lying, Sylar always declined that his life wasn’t very interesting and deflected questions about his involvement with Mohinder’s work to focus more on the doctor himself. It was a deflection that always seemed to work with this simple man.

It was not until drink two for Sylar and drink three for the other two men that Sylar realized he would have to take a break to the men’s room. Mohinder was telling Sebastian a little about the differences he perceived from European countries and America when Sylar finally scooted out his chair with a quick ‘I’ll be right back.’

With a nod from both men, Sebastian took a moment to finish off his drink as Sylar’s figure disappeared around the corner towards the restrooms.

“Well, now that I finally have a moment alone with you,” Sebastian began, smiling warmly through his reddened cheeks. He waved a hand at the bartender for two more glasses, then leaned back a little in his chair. 

Mohinder raised an eyebrow at the man, feeling the slight buzz through his head humming along with the heat he felt in his face. He wasn’t yet drunk, but if he kept drinking he’d surely be there. “What was it you wanted to ask me?” Mohinder asked before another mouthful finished off his own glass.

Sebastian slid his glass aside slowly, a more sober expression crossing his face. “I’m sorry to make it sound so serious and whatnot, but I daresay I wouldn’t do that if it weren’t important, Mohinder, and I wanted to tell you before I headed out for my conference.”

 

 

Bob was sufficiently occupied, the Haitian presumed, with Elle recounting their story and securing Adam in a more severe cell than the previous one. For that reason, it was relatively easy for him to slip through the thick oak door of Bob’s office, and even easier for him to take a seat behind Bob’s chair, pulling up his electronic files like the professional that he was. The one file of particular interest to perhaps only the Haitian and Bennet now was the one he obtained with relative ease: Isaac Mendez.

The Company kept special logs on all of Isaac’s work ever since they discovered his ability, though much of what they had in their possession had been catalogued and shipped to a variety of locations for safety purposes. Linderman’s facility still held the majority of them, though this particular set had not been kept together, but split amongst a number of Company members for safe keeping. Only two had been in Linderman’s hands, and those two, it appeared, were shipped back to the Company after his death.

The Haitian took out a small pad of paper and a pen, scribbling down addresses for the other two sets not kept so conveniently here, and then exited the file system. The mail office was not far from the regular offices, and he moved swiftly down the hallway, knowing that by these hours they would be long ago closed. 

The door was, of course, locked, and for that reason the Haitian cast a brief look to either side of him before he gave the doorknob a sharp yank accompanied by a powerful strike with his shoulder, forcing the door inward. He closed it behind him, flicking on the light as he straightened his jacket. He had a catalogue number in his mind for the package, and he followed row after row of items and letter stacks until finally the tube sticking out of a box in the back caught his eye. It read ‘SPECIAL COLLECTIONS’ in thick red letters, and had been set aside for other, unique processing.

Hurrying to the back, the Haitian slipped his cell phone from his pocket and set it out on a nearby box, reaching for the tube. He stripped the packaging away smoothly, popping off the lid with his short fingernails. As he pulled out the canvases inside, he knelt down to lay them smooth, placing the tube against the tops to slowly unravel them and reveal the images within.

Rendered in Isaac’s comic-book edge on the first canvas was a long table receding to one direction, accompanied by microscopes, computers, and test tubes. Three doctors stood closest to the viewer on one side of the table, each working at their assigned tasks, and one could be seen clearly on the opposite side. One man in the front stood lifting up a tube of a translucent formula, appearing to gaze at it against the brightness of the ceiling lamps which could not be seen. In spite of how a laboratory should have looked, bathed in fluorescent lights, partners with white lab coats, this one appeared to be cast in eerie hues of blue, purple, and gray, a computer screen glowing ominously to the left. The bottom corner read ‘ **2/8** ’ in Isaac’s scrawl. The meaning of this had become obvious to the Haitian by now; it was no mystery that the Company planned on manufacturing the virus they had in their grasp. He rolled the canvas back up, moving it away to look at the one beneath it.

He found there something far more interesting: the figure of a man set against a bland, gritty blue-black background. His body was turned almost in profile, but his angry face was forward, and in his hand a company-issued gun smoldered with a trail of white smoke off to the left. The Haitian sucked in a breath, gazing down at the image.

Behind horn-rimmed glasses was the face of Noah Bennet, whose rage the Haitian knew all too well. It was a painting, one that read ‘ **8/8** ,’ that told the Haitian nothing and everything at once. Bennet could never know that Peter Petrelli had escaped or survived. He would be satisfied, perhaps, that Adam was captured as Isaac had predicted, but there were still paintings to be had, and the lengths to which Bennet would go to achieve his own ends were unpredictable and dangerous at best. This painting told him that much. The Haitian couldn’t afford to let Bennet know too much of what the Company was doing; he couldn’t know too much about what they planned to stop.

Picking up his phone, the Haitian flipped it open and dialed Bennet. He waited for the one ring it took.

“Yes?”

“I am about to send you a photo.”

 

“Now, this is something I think you should probably keep to yourself,” Sebastian was saying, scooting his chair a little closer to Mohinder’s. “Unless you trust your friend Tom a lot, I suppose.”

The tension over the table seemed to rise, and both men leaned in a little, creating an air of secrecy about their small area of the tavern. “What is it, Sebastian?” Mohinder asked, brow furrowing in concern. He couldn’t imagine what it could be, and for that reason he felt all the more worried.

“Well,” the man began, expression serious, for once, not its usual light-hearted and jovial manner. “The thing is, just before you came to work with me, I had a visit from a man. He was interested in the work on the virus and claimed he represented a company that wanted to hire me to come do my work for them instead. Offered better pay, even better facilities in the States.”

“A company…” Mohinder breathed out, not realizing he had begun to hold it. He felt a bit more sober after that, and he leaned back up a bit to let the words drain the intoxication from him.

Sebastian nodded, green eyes focused on Mohinder. “I thought it was suspicious too. I turned him down, told him I’d already signed a contract with Mira, and that was the end of that. This was before they knew you were coming to join me, so I don’t think you’re in any danger. But I’m not crazy, right? It’s suspicious…”

Mohinder drew a hand through his curls, eyes a little distant as he considered Sebastian’s words. “It’s a good thing you told me… I appreciate it.” So the Company had come and gone… already seeking out cases of the virus, looking for information as Bennet feared might happen. But did they know he was here, in Europe? Or had Mohinder completely dropped off their radar as he and Sylar had hoped?

“I wouldn’t have mentioned anything— I didn’t know if it would scare you off from our work— but I could have sworn I saw the same man just the other day, when I was on my way home. He was standing outside a coffee shop, just biding his time. I took off immediately. I just wanted to make sure you’d be on your guard, if you had to be,” Sebastian said seriously. They both pushed back their chairs a little as two more beers were set down by the barkeep.

Mohinder wrapped a hand around his, staring at the foam for a moment, but then lifted his eyes to Sebastian. “Have you ever had to deal with something like this before?”

Sebastian smiled, lifting his own glass. “I’ve had my fair share of shady companies try to recruit me; even a few interns try to steal some more sensitive work I’ve done for private foundations. But they’ve never reappeared in a stalking form or fashion, or told me their company doesn’t have a name, for that matter. Set off a few alarms for me,” Sebastian chuckled.

Mohinder nodded in agreement and took a sip of his drink, thinking on that.

“Of course with Tom there, I doubt anyone will be able to get near you,” Sebastian added with a suddenly broad grin. 

Mohinder nearly coughed up some of his beer, looking at Sebastian with two raised eyebrows. “P-Pardon?”

“Quick to your defense, but he’s not much of a social creature, is he?” Sebastian asked, smiling knowingly at the doctor.

Mohinder cleared his throat, wiping the foam from his upper lip. “He… is what he wants to be, when he wants to be it,” Mohinder replied, feeling his dark skin color a little. Damn Sylar and his insatiable appetite for the inappropriate. Mohinder couldn’t tell if Sebastian actually knew something incriminating from today, or simply assumed things about them.

“Well, Tom’s got quite a handful, with someone as spacey as myself around him all the time. It must be tough for him to cope, being so serious and all.” Sebastian laughed, lifting his glass. He glanced up as Sylar returned, sliding into his seat with a curt nod. Sylar finished off the last touch of wine in his glass, then paused, lifting a brow to how both the men glanced in his direction.

“What?” he asked.

Sebastian waved a hand dismissively and looked back to Mohinder. “So tell me, Mohinder, what is it you’re working on between you and Tom? Or is it still a secret?”

Mohinder’s eyes lingered on Sylar so that they might exchange a glance, making the decision about how to handle this question. “Well,” Mohinder began, looking back at Sebastian. “As you know, my father went to New York to continue his work. And… that’s what I’m doing as well.”

The man’s green eyes widened significantly, and an ecstatic look crossed his face. “Are you _really?_ That’s incredible!” he gasped out. “Have you found anything significant? What area of it are you studying? Can you tell me a little about it?” Sebastian’s entire self seemed to light up and become animated as it had on their first meeting, and Sylar watched this carefully.

He watched it carefully as he listened carefully, for the simple fact that Sebastian seemed far more excited on the outside than the inside. When he listened to Sebastian’s heart and the rush of his blood, Sylar detected no substantial change to accompany his flurry of words. Sylar drew a finger over the rim of his wine glass slowly, eyes intent on the man.

“Well I can’t say much at the moment, as I don’t have much,” Mohinder lied smoothly, “but I will tell you that I believe the virus to be connected to the types of people my father was looking for. It’s an avenue of our research that may interconnect. That’s why I thought you should know.” Mohinder nodded.

“That’s incredible, Mohinder…” Sebastian breathed, teeth showing through his amazed smile. He glanced over to Sylar, whose darker expression any man could read. “You don’t seem very enthused about this, Tom. Isn’t it incredible? Or has the novelty worn off? You’ve hardly said a thing,” he commented in his friendly manner.

Sylar slid his glass aside and gave a waning smile. “I prefer to listen, actually,” he said simply. An exchange of dubious glances lasting only a second passed between himself and Mohinder.

“Oh! Don’t tell me, Tom. You’re one of these _people?_ ” he asked incredulously, scooting his chair in a little and staring, enthralled, at Sylar.

But Sylar merely smiled and shook his head a little, dark brown eyes looking deeply into Sebastian’s attentive ones. “I’m afraid I don’t kiss and tell, doctor. I’m under Mohinder’s command, here.”

Mohinder took a long drink and set his glass aside. “Now now, I’m not trying to keep a million secrets, but really, there’s no point in discussing this now, when we’re supposed to be escaping work.” Mohinder tried to direct conversation away from the more hazardous areas.

“Actually, speaking of work, I have to go. It’s getting late; I don’t want to miss the next bus to my side of the city, and I still haven’t started packing for tomorrow’s flight. You should see my room,” Sebastian laughed, standing up. He pulled out his wallet and put down the cost of the drinks and then some. “My treat tonight, you two some other time, yes?” he smiled.

Mohinder smiled and stood up as well. “We appreciate it, Sebastian. Thank you for inviting us out.” 

“Not a problem, a drink or two or three does wonders,” Sebastian replied. He looked over to Sylar, giving him a small wave. “Tom, a pleasure as always.”

Sylar did not stand, but waved in return, leaning back in his chair. “Have a safe trip.” He watched as Sebastian made his way out- stumbling only once- and exited the bar. It was then that Mohinder gave Sylar a small look, but one that he seemed to let go of quickly. 

“Ready to go back, then?”

“Absolutely.” Sylar stood and pushed his chair in, straightening his shirt a little. He felt warm from the atmosphere of the bar and two glasses of wine, but Sylar felt that all his faculties were about him as they stepped out into the night air, heading towards their own bus stop to leave the city. 

“That went surprisingly well, actually,” Mohinder began, sliding his hands into his pockets as they walked. He glanced over at Sylar, hoping to get a smile in return to his own, but Sylar was not smiling.

“I don’t like him. Still. I think he’s up to something.”

Mohinder’s expression fell, as did his shoulders. “You are joking, aren’t you? We just had a nice time, drinking out with a friend like normal people, and you still feel sour about Sebastian?”

“It’s not for no reason,” Sylar countered, looking over at Mohinder as they walked. “I’ve noticed things about him. He’s not honest. He’s not genuine, Mohinder. When you talk, he-”

“You know, people see what they want to see sometimes,” Mohinder said rather sharply, an irritated edge sneaking easily into his voice. Sylar had no idea what Sebastian had just revealed, and more and more, Mohinder began to feel that the few conversations exchanged between Sylar and Sebastian were pissing contests. In spite of Sylar’s earlier words denying his jealousy, that was still the word that leapt to his mind first. “A lonely lover is insanely jealous, for example, because his significant other’s time away is being spent with someone else.”

Sylar stopped in his tracks, jaw dropping in disbelief and insult. “That’s ridiculous, Mohinder!” he countered, his own voice raising. They had reached the corner of a street and those who passed by them began to stare.

“What do you mean, ‘that’s ridiculous’? You’re making a judgment based solely on the few times you’ve spoken with the man! _That’s_ ridiculous! Just because you don’t spend as many waking hours with me as Sebastian does is no reason to hate him! Or is it just unconditionally?” Mohinder asked, tone made more spiteful and words less restrained by the alcohol in his system.

Sylar grabbed Mohinder by the upper arms, forcing him back and against a light post, his face twisted in anger, true anger, this time. “How _dare_ you, Mohinder! You’re not even willing to hear me _out_ you’re so convinced of his goddamn friendly smiles and pats on the back! You think just because I’m jealous and _lonely_ I’ll believe anything I want for you? Well let me tell _you_ something, Doctor Suresh: I’ve lived in loneliness for the last fourteen years of my **life** , and I’ll be damned if I can’t handle fourteen _hours_ of a day in which I don’t see you! Do you really think I’m that pathetic?!”

Mohinder felt the very air stolen from his lungs, and he stared wide-eyed at a fury, a ferocity before him that was far more lucid than any of the other times he had seen Sylar’s temper aroused. The reality of Sylar’s words set in, and a sudden, helpless guilt settled over Mohinder. He cast his eyes downward, throat tightening. A shameful flush rose quickly to his cheeks. “I… I’m sorry,” Mohinder breathed out, his apology white smoke in the chilly air. 

Sylar seemed to relax, at that, and he released Mohinder, stepping back. “…I’m trying to protect you. Not because you’re weak. Because you’re not. I won’t see you used again.” Sylar’s face seemed to twitch at those words, and he turned away, walking on, placing his hands back in his pockets.

Staring after his first few steps, Mohinder swallowed, and then hurried after him, falling into step at his side. He watched the pavement as they walked, and said nothing. He could tell Sylar of Sebastian’s worries now, his warnings about the Company that might have cleared the man’s guilt in Sylar’s eyes, but that was something he felt was best broached at another time. He wouldn’t argue for Sebastian’s innocence in the face of Sylar’s upset.

All Mohinder wanted now was to go home and make peace over a warm cup of chai, but now even that seemed like a far away, impossible stretch to cross. Mohinder slid his hands into his pockets, listening in silence to the step of Sylar’s shoes against the pavement with a heavy, guilty heart.  
  
  


  



End file.
